I Cannot Be A Man

He Is Dead And Gone, Lady, He Is Dead And Gone; At His Head A Grass-green Turf, At His Heels A Stone.

Thou Sodden-witted Lord! Thou Hast No More Brain Than I Have In Mine Elbows.

This Blessed Plot, This Earth, This Realm, This England.

And Then He Drew A Dial From His Poke, And Looking With Lack-lustre Eye, Says Very Wisely, 'it Is Ten O'clock: Thus We May See', Quoth He, 'how The World Wags: 'tis But An Hour Ago Since It Was Nine, And After One Hour More 'twill Be Eleven; And So From Hour To Hour We Ripe And Ripe, And Then From Hour To Hour We Rot And Rot.

Give Thanks For What You Are Today And Go On Fighting For What You Gone Be Tomorrow